Pain in Silence
by Chelle
Summary: Oz deals with Xander's death.


Title: Pain in Silence Author: Michelle Hansen Feedback: Yes, please? Send to chellerbelle@prodigy.net Content: Ummmm... angst. slash, sorta. Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. Joss Whedon and all those other people own them. Dedication: To my Niccy because I love her. And to Carol because she FINALLY came over to the dark side. Hoorah! Notes: IMPORTANT! This is a sequel to Niccy's beautiful fic "I Like the Quiet" which can be found here: http://adult.dencity.com/NMMcFadgen/quiet.html Please go read that first. 

Xander is dead. I keep telling myself that, hoping that I'll feel *something* this time. I should feel a stab of pain or anger or sorrow. I found his body three days ago and since then I've watched the people around me visibly fall apart. And still I've felt nothing since the initial reaction of finding him there by himself on that lonely hill. I check myself again this time to see if there's any reaction. Nope. Nothing. Shit. 

I'm sorta starting to worry about myself here. People always think that I'm just this emotionless person, but I'm not. I mean, I don't cry at the drop of a hat like Willow does, but I don't bottle everything up until I burst the way Xander did, either. I cry and laugh and everything the way everyone else does. I just don't feel the need to share it with everyone around me. But now I'm numb. And that scares the shit out of me. 

I should be feeling something. This should hurt. I know that. It hurt when I saw his car just off the road up on that hill. It hurt as I got out of my van and made my way down to Xander's still body. And god, how it hurt when I found him. His face was even paler than usual and there was dried blood all over his arm. I knelt beside him and moved my hands to his hair, pushing my fingers through the soft locks. Moving my hand to his cheek, I caressed it gently. 

I just sat there staring down into his face for several long minutes while I told him all the things I'd wanted to say. I told him that I loved him and that he *was* useful to us, that we needed him more than he could possibly realize. I told him that I was sorry for the way everyone treated him and that I wished I had been brave enough to tell him all of this when he could actually hear it. I told him that I was so incredibly sorry that the last thing he'd ever heard from me was that I didn't need him to get me a snack. I asked him why he had done it and begged him to come back to me, even though I knew he couldn't. If he had been alive, Xander would have made a crack about how I was talking more in ten minutes than I had in the entire time he'd known me. 

Finally, I pulled myself away from him, brushed the tears off my cheeks, and went to find the nearest pay phone. I called 911 first and explained the situation. When they promised to send someone out to get Xander, I hung up and picked up the phone again to dial Giles' office. Willow answered the phone and I told her in the calmest voice I could manage that Xander was dead. She began sobbing and soon the phone was taken by Buffy. I repeated the story and Buffy started crying as well. Meanwhile, my numbness was beginning to set in. I stared at the numbers on the pay phone, transfixed by the sight of them. I barely even remember what I said to Giles. Eventually the conversation ended and I hung up the phone to return to Xander. 

The police arrived on the scene after about fifteen minutes of waiting. I looked up as they approached and rose to my feet. The police officers bustled around the scene, taking photographs and setting up crime scene tape, while Detective Smith took my report. It was quickly decided that Xander's death was indeed a suicide, as though there had been some doubt before. Finally they were through and had loaded Xander's body into an ambulance to take him directly to the morgue. Detective Smith handed me her card and told me to call her if I needed anything. Maybe she saw something on my face that made her feel sorry for me. 

I drove back to the school in a daze; it's a wonder that I didn't get myself killed along the way. Walking through the double doors of the library, I saw them all sitting there huddled together. Even Cordelia was there, the expression on her face sorrowful. Willow came over to me and wrapped her arms around me, crying into my shoulder as I gently rubbed her back. I felt like I was in a waking nightmare and that any moment I would wake up and Xander would still be there. Then feeling would return to my body and I could go back to trying to love Willow and trying to hate Xander. But it wasn't a dream. 

And that's how I got to where I am today, standing in this bleak cemetery staring at a coffin that will soon be lowered into the ground. Buffy and Willow are crying again. I can hear their soft whimpers as the minister prays over Xander's coffin. I think Cordelia is probably crying as well, but she's quiet and I can't pull my gaze away from the dark wooden box that is going to carry Xander into his grave. 

There was a nice service before this at the First Episcopal church where everyone went up to the front to say what Xander meant to them. People I had never seen before got up there and talked about how school wouldn't be the same without Xander there. Willow and Buffy each talked about how Xander was the most loyal person they had ever known and about how much they loved him. Then they each started crying again. Willow asked me to say something but I told her no. That was perhaps only the second time I had ever said that to her. She certainly wasn't expecting it; she got that pouty look on her face that used to make me concede to her wishes. But I refused to be part of a mockery like that. Xander deserved better than to have people lie at his funeral. 

The minister just finished his prayer and said something about how the pain will lessen in time. He's a nice old man and I'm sure the fountain of tears coming from Willow and Buffy has touched his heart. I wish someone would tell him that their tears are often empty. And it's no comfort to know that the pain will lessen in time when I haven't even started feeling pain yet. I know it's there, waiting for me. I can feel this little ball of emotion sitting at the pit of my stomach, but it doesn't reach any other part of me. 

They're getting ready to lower Xander into the ground now. Usually, they wait until the funeral is over and the family and friends have left before they lower the coffin, but we insisted that we be allowed to watch it. As the assistant turns the crank to lower the coffin into the hole, I stare at the dark wooden box. I feel like I'm watching from somewhere outside myself. I'm drifting and I can't remember where the ground is. The coffin is descending into the hole now and this is it. It's really over. Xander's really and truly gone. I think until now I've been half expecting him to just wake up but he hasn't. He's dead and he's alone. I wonder if it's dark where he is now. He must be terrified. Shit, shit, shit. Don't think about that. 

As the coffin hits the bottom of the hole with a soft thud, I feel that little ball of pain inside me break. And oh god *damn* this hurts like hell. I don't think I can live my life without Xander. All I wanted was to love him. Was that so much to ask for? Apparently, someone thought it was because now he's gone and I'm left staring down into his grave. I don't even remember approaching the edge of it, but I must have in order to look down into it the way I am now. Suddenly, the only thing I want to do is crawl into that hole, curl up into a little ball, and go to sleep next to him. 

Willow's standing beside me, though, and she's tugging gently on my shirt. When I glance over at her, she shoots me the strangest look, as though she's looking at someone she's never seen before. I want to tell her that she's right, that she doesn't know me at all, but I don't. Instead I just follow her to my van. We pass the drive to Xander's house for the reception in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. 

As we enter the Harris' house, Buffy looks around curiously and I wonder if she's ever even been here before. Willow just passes quickly to a chair in the corner of the room, avoiding Xander's family. And I just stand here, staring around me. Xander lived here but there doesn't seem to be any sign that he was ever even here. Nothing about this house seems uniquely him. I can't even see any pictures of him on the walls. 

I can hear everyone around me talking, their voices thundering in my ears. They're asking each other why such a happy young man with so many friends would do such a thing. I feel like screaming at them that he didn't have friends, that these people here were *not* his friends. They're just a bunch of teenagers who hardly knew him. Sure, they feel bad that he's dead but they treated him like shit when he was alive. Of course these people can't understand how he could commit suicide. They didn't even know him. 

But I should be able to understand this. I should know why he had to kill himself. I don't understand, though. I mean, I can guess but I don't *know* why he did it. I don't know what his life was like at home. I don't know what he did when he wasn't with us. I actually know very little about him. I always hoped that some day, I could learn all those things about him that I didn't know, that he would tell me about his life. But now it's too late. 

Suddenly, I can't be here any more. I'm not like these people. I can't be content just sitting here half-heartedly asking myself why he did it. I need to *know*. So I rise from my seat and slip quietly through the roomful of people. I make my way quickly down the hallway connecting to the living room. A few moments later, I find myself in a room that could only have belonged to Xander. This is where he lived. His clothes are strewn everywhere. There are books and CDs all over the place, dishes sitting on his desk, and posters on the walls. I can practically see him sitting here among his things. God, I miss him. 

I begin looking through the things in his room. I want to understand him, to know what he was thinking before he died. You can learn a lot about a person by looking through his stuff. As I pull a box out from under his bed, I pause for a moment, feeling vaguely guilty about doing this. Xander would never let anyone just look through his stuff when he was alive. I shouldn't disrespect his wishes just because he's dead. But at the same time, I need to know. This hurts way too much and I just need to try to understand. Maybe I never will, but I have to at least try. 

So I start pulling things out of the box. There's an odd assortment of stuff here, ranging from pictures of the gang back before I knew them to Legos and G.I. Joes. At the bottom of the box, there's a small key taped to the cardboard. Pulling it out, I look around the room, trying to figure out what it might open. Nothing with a lock is visible so I begin rummaging through his closet. And there it is at the back of the closet, a small chest that must have been given to him as a gift. I just can't see Xander picking out the wooden box for himself. Sitting down on the edge of Xander's bed with the box, I place the key into the lock and turn, smiling when I hear the small click of the lock opening. 

I open the lid of the box and just stare down for a moment before I start lifting things out of it. It's full nearly to the brim of *stuff*. There's no other word to describe it. I pull out dozens of pictures of all of us, Willow, Cordelia, Buffy, Giles. even a couple of me. There are group shots and individual shots and in all of them we look happy. Really, insanely happy. I don't even remember when they were all taken but he saved them. And there are letters, so many notes and letters that I begin to think that I'm looking into a bottomless box. I open one and I nearly start laughing. It's a note from Willow, written in a childish scrawl and talking about how she heard a rumor that Gina had a crush on him. They couldn't have been past fifth grade. And he saved it. 

I hear a sound in the hallway outside the door and I rush to put the things back into the box. It's too late, though, and Xander's father walks in as I'm putting in the last picture. I close the lid slowly, looking up at him guiltily. He just stares at me with his eyes narrowed for several minutes. 

"So, you want my son's stuff, huh?" he asks finally, his voice low and gravelly. "You his fuck buddy? I always figured that boy was a pansy." 

"No, sir," I respond, keeping my voice neutral and pushing down the flash of anger. "I'm just a friend and I was just looking. I'm sorry." There, that's the tone of voice that will make him either back off or hit me. With my dad it always depended on how drunk he was. I'm not sure about Xander's dad, but he's not glaring at me the same way now. 

"I'll tell you what," he says, drawing out his words. "If you'll leave and take some of your little friends with you, you can have whatever you want." 

I consider it for a few moments. God, I feel like a fucking vulture. This is Xander's stuff and he just *died*. I loved him and he's dead and I'm sitting here thinking about taking his stuff home. What kind of person am I? But, on the other hand, I need to know. So I stand up and start gathering stuff. I grab a stack of CDs and place it on top of the wooden box, then lift the chest. You can learn a lot about a person by listening to his music. And I'm sure there's something useful I can learn from the sweatshirt that I lift off the back of a chair as I leave the room. I'm not just taking it because Xander's scent still clings to it. Yeah, right. 

I leave the room and walk down the hallway to the living room. People turn to look at me when I enter the room and I can see the expressions of shock on their faces. Willow is staring at me again with that look on her face that shows that she clearly doesn't approve of how I'm acting. And once I would have cared about that. I would have done anything I could to make that look go away. But now I'm far beyond caring that Willow disapproves of me. 

"What are you doing?" she asks me as she rises from the couch where she was sitting talking quietly with Buffy. 

"I'm taking some of Xander's stuff." My voice sounds hollow to my own ears and I don't really blame her for looking at me like I've grown a third head. I'm carrying a stack of my friend's stuff out of his house like some kind of looter. How could anyone not look at me that way? "We should go," I tell Willow quietly, glancing at Xander's father. 

Her gaze follows mine and her eyes widen slightly as she notes the expression on the man's face. "Okay," she answers and then turns to Buffy. They speak quietly for a moment and I shift the heavy box in my arms uncomfortably. Finally, Buffy stands also and follows us out of the house. Just as she closes the door behind us, I hear the buzz of conversation starting up in the room. But I don't really care if they want to talk about me. I'm going home to learn about the person I love. 

I drop them off at Willow's house and then make my way home, fighting back tears that have been threatening to fall since we left the cemetery. I will *not* cry until I'm in the privacy of my own room. I open the door quietly and struggle into the house with the chest. Closing the door behind me, I walk up the stairs, careful to not wake my mom. She works the graveyard shift at a piece of shit diner on the edge of town. Ever since I found out about all the vampires and everything, I've tried to convince her to get a different job. But she says there's nothing else she can do. 

Once I'm inside my own room with the door closed behind me, I put the box on the floor and sit down heavily on my bed. My heart hurts. Grabbing a CD off the top of the stack, I put it in the CD player. As James Taylor begins to play, I pull the box up onto the bed and lift the lid again. Lifting the pictures and notes from the top, I place them to the side to look at more closely later. Under the stack of notes, there's a framed certificate of some sort. I pull it out and look at it. It's one of those award certificates that teachers sometimes give out. "Xander Harris, Most Improved Student of the Fourth Grade," it read. I wonder how proud he must have been to receive that and how hard he must have worked to get it. 

Under the award is the oddest assortment of things that I've ever seen. The teddy bear resting on the bottom of the box is tattered and worn; it must have gotten him through a lot of difficult nights when he was little. Sighing, I pull it out of the box and hold it on my lap. It reminds me of the stuffed dog my brother Jeff gave me when I was five and my father hit me for the first time. After Dad passed out on the couch, Jeff knocked on my door and entered my room quietly, carrying Scruffy, his favorite stuffed dog. I dried my tears off my cheeks as he sat down on my bed and smiled when he handed me the dog. From that night on, I held onto the dog whenever I was afraid or sad, which was most of the time when I was young. This guy here looks like that old beat up dog did by the time I put it away in my closet. I wonder if Xander ever named him and what kind of stories this bear could tell if he could talk. 

The rest of the stuff in the box is just an assortment of stuff that Xander saved over the years: treasure maps, postcards from vacations Willow's family took, a few baseball cards, a couple of cassettes. It's just *stuff*. But everything gives me a glimpse into Xander's personality that I never saw before. 

There are a couple books near the bottom of the box and I pull them out. They've clearly been read repeatedly; the spines are bent and the covers are battered. The first that catches my eye is Catcher in the Rye. Passages are highlighted and notes have been written in the margin. Leaning back against the headboard of my bed, I skim through the book, reading the highlighted passages and the notes, trying to see into Xander's head. An unspeakable loneliness seems to be found in this book. The passages Xander noted are all about not fitting into the world. 

With a heavy heart, I put the book aside and stare off into space for a moment. Suddenly, I realize that the music stopped a long time ago and I grab the case and put the CD away. Reaching for another one, I place it into the CD player and push play. As Patsy Cline's voice floats out of the speakers, something in me breaks again and the tears finally start pouring down my cheeks. I've cried before, of course, but never like this. These are wrenching sobs that seem to come from the very center of my being and it feels like they'll never stop. Grabbing Xander's sweatshirt from the foot of the bed, I hold it to me, wishing with all my heart that it was him instead of just an article of clothing. 

I want him back. It sounds like such a simple request that I'm tempted to go to Giles right now and tell him to bring Xander back to me. I'm sure somewhere in all those books, there has to be some way to do it. But I know he never would. Even if I begged. Even if I cried the way I am now, so that I can't breathe and all that I can concentrate on is how much I miss him, Giles wouldn't bring Xander back. He'd make excuses about it being too difficult or too costly or too dangerous. For a blind moment, I hate him. 

But then it passes and the tears finally stop as well and I'm left feeling like someone ripped out my soul. It just hurts. And I can't hate Giles any more than I can really hate Willow and Buffy, even though I want to so very much. No, the only person I can hate here is me. Because I could have saved him and I didn't. I could have told him that I loved him and I could have taken him home with me that horrible day. God, how I wish I could go back in time those four days to tell him that I could use something to eat and offer to go with him. I wouldn't have just confessed my undying devotion to him then, of course, but I could have invited him over to watch a movie or something. I wish I could have stopped him, I wish I could have told him that I love him, I wish I could have had the chance to make him happy. I've been wishing for a lot of things in the past few days. But most of all, I wish he was here with me now. 

Curling into a ball, I hold Xander's sweatshirt and close my eyes. I don't think I can do this. I know that people all over the world survive pain worse than this all the time. Men who lose their wives of fifty years survive to wake up the next morning and go on with life. Children survive after their parents die. Mothers who lose their children wind up doing okay. I'm not sure I can figure out how they do it, though. 

Maybe I should talk to Giles after all. He's been through this. Maybe he can help me figure out a way to stop expecting to see Xander's face everywhere I turn. Maybe he can teach me a way to sleep through a night without having nightmares of Xander's body appearing to turn accusing eyes to me. Or maybe Giles can't do anything for me. Perhaps I should just give up now. It would be so easy to go into the bathroom and take a razor to my wrist the way Xander did to his. Maybe then the emptiness I can feel gnawing at my heart will go away and I can have some peace. Because I don't think I can stand living day after day without Xander beside me. 

In my life, I've lost five people I truly loved. When I was six, my grandfather died. When I was eight, my father got drunk and drove himself and my brothers into a truck. Then I didn't really understand what being dead meant. I just assumed that it was like being sick and that Jeff and Tommy would come home some day. But they never did. And after being told enough times, I realized that being dead really *did* mean being gone forever. And forever is such an impossibly long time. It's only been ten years since my brothers died, just a tiny fraction of forever, and yet it seems like they've been gone several lifetimes. It hurt to have them there one day and then have them gone the next, but at the time I didn't understand and once I finally did, I had grown accustomed to the fact that they were gone. 

But this. This is so much different. Because I *know* that I'll never see Xander again. And somewhere in the past few months, I began picturing the rest of my life with him by my side. When I looked ahead, he was always there. But now he's been ripped out of my life by my own stupidity and neglect. And there's this long stretch of lonely road that marks the rest of my life. I wanted Xander to walk it with me, but instead I have to face it alone. I'm not sure I can do that. 

In the end, I think I'm too weak. I'm not strong physically the way Buffy is, or mentally the way Giles is. I'm just me and I'm scared shitless because I can't figure out a good reason to wake up tomorrow morning. I have practice and Devon would kick my ass if I wasn't there, but I can't think of anything that would make the day worth living through. There would be no smile at the end of the day from Xander, no joke to lighten the mood, no quickening of my heart when I saw him. It would just be the day and then nothing but the painful memories of what should have been. 

"God, Xander," I whimper, my voice small and full of tears that are beginning to make their way down my cheeks again. "I miss you." 

Curled up among his things, the treasured keepsakes he kept safe in his box, I can almost feel him here with me. What would he say if he was really here? Would he make some joke? Would he be embarrassed that I was sitting here crying? Yeah, probably. I feel a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I picture him regarding me with that expression that always said that he thought someone had lost their mind. 

Opening my eyes, I look over at my nightstand. Reaching over, I grab the picture that sits there in a small frame. It's a picture of Xander, Willow, and Buffy. I run my forefinger over his picture slowly and sigh. "I love you, Xander," I whisper and wish one more time that I could have told him that when he was there to respond. "And I'm so sorry." 

Feeling some relief from saying the words that have been sitting at the back of my throat for days, I close my eyes again. I can feel him here in his memories. So I talk to him. I tell him about my dreams, the hopes I had for our lives. And I tell him how amazing I think he is and how very much I love him. For so long I couldn't say it at all and now I can't seem to stop. And eventually I stop talking, my voice gone hoarse from sobbing and talking. And feeling slightly less empty than before, I drift away into dreams that with any luck will let me sleep through the night. 


End file.
